Engorgement
by hilarityallen
Summary: Hooch has an accident.


Written for the HP Voices and Vaginas Challenge, issued by Violet Quill

They always said that it was Sprout who was hit by an engorgement charm. Everyone knows about Eloise Midgen's attempt to deal with acne. But it was really me who was hit by an engorgement charm. My own.

From pictures, you'd just think I was a bit flat-chested. You can't see that there's anything wrong. It happened a long while ago, when Pomfrey had just come to Hogwarts, in the early 70s. I was seventeen then, Beater on the house team. I came from a Muggle family, and it was getting a bit hard.

Even my mother would comment on how small my boobs were. Her term. Everyone at school laughed at me. The girls all laughed at me because I wasn't even an A cup; the boys all laughed at me for the same reason. For a long time I didn't care; whoever heard of a Quidditch star with a big chest?

Then my mother started talking about surgery. It was the early days for Muggle-style breast enhancement. Only the superrich could afford it, but we had plenty of savings and my ma kept saying that I looked too much like a boy, and she didn't want me to turn out a dyke and so big boobs would help. It seemed that everyone wanted me to have a proper chest.

The surgery sounded dangerous and painful. I was a witch, for god's sake. Obviously what you needed was an engorgement charm.

I never thought it was that dangerous. Of course, stories went round about guys whose dicks exploded because of engorgement charms, but I always thought it was just talk. Or that one guy had let his get out of control, and the story had gone from there. I was going to be careful, of course. I went off to Moaning Myrtle's toilet and performed the charm. Nothing too noticeable, I thought. I'll aim for a B cup.

My god, it went hideously wrong. I ended up with two enormous saggy balloons on my chest. It wasn't so much a B cup as more a D cup or even an F. I was horrified. I didn't have time to cast a glamour before running down to the pitch for Quidditch practice.

My new breasts flopped everywhere. The skin was saggy and at the same time felt really stretched. I heard girls laughing and whispering all the way down; 'Rolanda's engorged her boobs! Oh my god how could she!' I didn't think it was that big a deal. The boys on the pitch thought I'd put a glamour on for a dare and laughed at me.

It felt horrible on the broom. It didn't last long though. As soon as I went into a dive, things went wrong. I felt this stretchy, tearing feeling, and then liquid against my skin, all over my robes. The captain was shouting something at me. I felt lightheaded. I looked down; my chest was covered with blood.

I passed out then. Apparently the captain cast a cushioning charm and got me to the hospital wing. I came round just before Poppy stripped me.

'Oh you silly girl. An engorgement charm, was it?' she said. I nodded.

'Don't you know how dangerous those things are?' I shook my head.

'Can't do much about it now. You should have come to talk to me, you silly thing.' And I knew she was right. She wouldn't be embarrassed. She would have been helpful. I was on the verge of tears, and I never ever cried. I preferred to do things.

She looked at me. 'I'm afraid I can't do much about it. You've damaged a lot of your breast tissue and that's hard to regenerate. Your breasts will probably be a little smaller than before, and there'll be a lot of scarring because they burst. If you'd come to me straight away after you'd charmed them, I'd have been able to do a tidy job, but there's not much I can do now. You'll need a blood-restoring potion as well. You probably won't ever be able to breastfeed.'

This didn't mean much to me then. She offered to listen to me talk, whenever I wanted. This helped. I've never wanted children, but I don't like getting intimate. My small chest doesn't bother me, but there are scars all over them, where Poppy pieced the skin back together. My hair went grey when it happened, but I didn't find out until I got my first visitors. Poppy genuinely hadn't noticed. It makes me look old now, and I'm barely fifty. My breasts have a horrible texture to them.

The boys shut up when I came back to school, at least to my face. Apparently the Quidditch captain threatened to beat them all up if they were rotten to me. Some of the girls taunted me for not having better sense; some of them treated me with a terrible cloying pity, as if I was now disabled or something. They made my life hell all along. At least I could still play Quidditch, and I did. After all, I didn't have that much to lose now.

At least no-one can see. And it would have happened if I'd had Muggle surgery too; those implanty things do burst. There are some women who lose their breasts to disease, and that's harder to conceal. At least no-one has to see the results of my own stupidity but me.

Poppy's tried to help me get over the discomfort I feel about people looking at the scars. She says that it's just part of who I am, and that everyone makes mistakes at seventeen. Just most people don't make mistakes that will stay with them for the rest of their lives. Hearing about Eloise Midgen made me feel sick for a day. I don't suppose it will ever go away.

Maybe I'd feel better about it if I'd wanted large breasts for myself. But I only wanted them to shut people up, and I lost what I already had - a pair of perfectly reasonable breasts, if a little small. I mostly don't think about it. But every now and then, it comes back to me.


End file.
